Masquerade
by Pink Lady Alex
Summary: *On Hiatus* There is a saying: "Appearances are everything". Yet, appearances can be deceiving. In an age of social climbing, appearances are everything.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to _Vanity Fair _in any format (book, mini-series, or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.

**_Author's Note: _**I'm so psyched to be writing this! _Vanity Fair _is a delicious story. This fanfic is based off of the book, the BBC mini-series, and the novel; all of which are excellent, so check them out! Also, I've done my best to stay true to the characters. This first chapter is mostly introductory; it shows what all of the main characters are doing at this point. I've rated this story T just in case - there may be adult situations later on. I greatly appreciate your questions, comments, and suggestions. That said, start reading!!

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~8 years after the battle~

Sometimes he wished that he had died in the battle. That his body had been left on the field after the chaos had ended. That he had been given a soldier's funeral with all of the ceremony that his gallant actions would merit. He should have disappeared afterwards to start his life again, somewhere far away. If only he had considered the consequences that would have and certainly had arisen from his marriage, maybe things would have turned out differently. Gazing out the window of his modest dwelling, he realized that to the fullest extent now. He would have left long ago had it not been for Dobbin providing a means of living for the small family in addition to the earnings he made. At least he had things to occupy himself with…

"George, dearest, why do you keep gazing out the window? Come sit with me for a time, it's quiet now that I've finally got Georgy to rest," Amelia spoke softly as she came near to him.  
"I'd rather sit here."  
"But it's pouring rain outside! How can that be better to watch than-"  
"Amelia, please… just let me be." His cold reply made her comply without a word. It had seemed like the most noble of ideas at the time; Dobbin had urged him to marry her despite the fact that his father was violently opposed to the notion. This was Dobbin's fault, he had made everything possible for the union to occur, basically pushed him into it. Why had he listened to him?

***

Becky was glad to have the house-servants and maids who looked after the little boy. It was not a task that she enjoyed in the least. The only things that she wished to have occupy her mind were those of dinner parties and other occasions like that. The gambling that her husband did to supplement their income was just not enough; it was actually hurting their chances of climbing higher in society, since those who had the misfortune of playing with him left those evenings at the Crawley residence in London spreading distrust of the family's intentions. In spite of that, they still lived quite well, with comforts that those of the middle class expected to have. It was her own talents that she focused her energy on now. People liked to have her at parties, and Becky made sure that she attended as many as she could, creating a pleasing reputation for herself. Rawdon frequently declined accompanying her to such events, choosing to associate with those of his own ranking, but it didn't bother her; he simply did not understand the importance of what she was trying to do for them, and he would only get in the way.

She left the pawn shop that she favoured with a fresh supply of money. It was partly what they would exist on, since they lived on basically nothing a year. It was also in part what they would pay the bills with, of which there were many, since her little family lived on questionable credit and fragile promises. And a small part of that money was what she would personally use, since it was she who had had to sell a pretty gold necklace to obtain the money. Becky did not mind very much, she was quite accustomed to the process actually, and the fact that she had only received the necklace as a gift two weeks ago for providing her excellent taste in French décor to a lady of high society who wished to redecorate in the French style meant that Becky did not have any sentimental value to the piece either. She had worn it once, so that the lady would notice Mrs. Crawley's respect for the woman, but had actually planned to sell it soon after the event to which she wore it. She did not care; there would be other gifts, and those too would meet the same fate as the little gold necklace.

***

Receiving mail was something that Amelia had always waited for with great eagerness and anxiety. When she had been courting George, she would sit for hours by the window of her room pretending to read, but really peering at each passerby hoping that each man was either the postman or George Osbourne himself coming to visit her. Now she waited for letters from abroad, the Far East to be exact, where Jos and William were. Her brother was not given to writing in particular, but Jos Sedley did write often to his family, especially since her parents had lost their fortune before her marriage. It was Major Dobbin though, whose letters kept her vigilantly watching the path to her house. His faithful letters were always full of captivating tales of the distant land he was in and they were a delight to read to young Georgy, who, despite his tender age, had grown to both love and respect his uncle from all of the good reports he continually heard about the man from his mother and father. Amelia knew that her husband and William kept in contact through other private letters, which were probably containing financial information that she need not worry about, though she was aware that their long-time friend was assisting them ever since George's father had cut him off from both the family and the inheritance. William's devotion to their wellbeing, his kindness and generosity endeared him more to her each day it seemed, despite the great distance between them. Just how much help he had provided she would likely never know…

***

Spending time with his son was the sole thing in his life that he truly enjoyed with every fiber of his body. Never did he think that a man as formidable in appearance as himself could have found such attachment to his own child. It was pitiable and strange that Becky did not feel the same way about little Rawdy. She was out again that evening and he had taken the opportunity to play with his son; they were in the midst of constructing various towers and towns out of wooden blocks for the toy soldiers he had bought for his son. It was only then could Rawdon show his true feelings and the boy had grown attached to him for the love that he was shown, much more so than his own mother. When his maid came over to put the young boy to bed, Rawdon insisted on doing it himself and swung the boy up onto his broad shoulders. Marching up the stairs, he sang out one of the militia songs he knew and soon had tucked his son into bed, kissing him on the forehead and wishing him good dreams. As he left the room, Rawdon gazed back with the most loving expression on his face, and then closed the door softly behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I do not anything pertaining to _Vanity Fair _in any format (book, mini-series or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.

**_Author's Note: _**If you've read the first chapter (which you probably have) thank you very much for doing so! This second chapter really gets into the actual story; dialogue and all. Your review is much appreciated.

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"Good morning dearest!" Amelia greeted her husband as he came to the table that morning. "Are you feeling very hungry? There is some hot porridge if you wish to have some."  
Seeing her beaming face in the mornings as she bustled about the house always stirred something inside of him; it reminded him of how he imagined married life would be. "Yes Emmy, I would like some." He sat down at the head of the table and reached over to his right to ruffle his son's hair; little Georgy was already eating his breakfast.  
Amelia returned from the kitchen a moment after, where the maidservant and cook were eating their own meals, and set the steaming bowl in front of George, after which she went back to eating her porridge.  
"I must go into town today," George proclaimed after eating a few bites.  
"On business? Will you be back home this evening?" Amelia asked.  
"I should expect so, but if it becomes necessary I will remain overnight and return tomorrow."  
"Daddy, bring me something!" Georgy insisted.  
"Of course!" he smiled at the boy. He reminded him so much of himself when he was his age; if only he had the money to bring him up as he had been brought up.  
"Georgy, you know that your father is a busy man and can't always bring you presents," his mother told him softly. The truth was that she would give him nearly everything he asked for, and he was already beginning to demand things when he did not receive them directly.  
"Nonsense! Georgy should have nice things and will have when I could back." His announcement made the boy grin triumphantly at the world around him, knowing that his future treasures were secured before re-focusing his attention on creating porridge mountains.

Amelia pretended to blow on a spoonful of porridge to cold it as she stifled a disapproving sigh. It was too often that the boy dominated her authority, his father encouraging the attitude, but he was still young, she reasoned, he would be brought up properly.  
George noticed the look in her eye and continued; "And perhaps I should bring something back for you as well." Their eyes connected and they exchanged the first meaningful look in days. She practically glowed with happiness and he was pleased that his words brought forth such a result, although he had no idea of what he ought to get for either of them.

***

It was probably near to being one in the afternoon when Rebecca finally roused herself and got out of bed. Rawdon had been reclining in a lower level of the house and could hear her footsteps on the wooden floor, so went on upstairs to check on her. He politely knocked and waited to receive an affirmative answer before entering the room.  
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Crawley! How are you this day?" he boomed out.  
"Shhhhh! Rawdon would you quit that infernal shouting. You know how I detest hearing that when I first awake," she snapped back in a half-whisper.  
"I'm sorry, my love," he whispered as he walked near to his wife. Maybe he had been a tad bit loud for a person who had just been heavily slumbering after a full night of social mingling and trays of drinks.  
Her back was to him as she stood before the table holding a wash basin and other assorted toiletries. Approaching her from behind and putting his arms around her petite body, he held her close to him. Becky put her head back onto his chest, relaxing in his embrace.  
"Darling, why don't you come out to the park with me today?" he whispered into her ear as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a marvelous afternoon and I'm taking Rawdy out to walk him about on his pony. Come with us."  
"The pony? So you won't be taking the carriage?"  
"Well, no… unless you want the pony to ride with us. It's not a great distance to walk to reach the park though." He didn't need to see her face to know that she disliked the idea, her body had subtly tensed and a moment later she had pulled herself from his embrace.

Becky turned to face him before she spoke, "If you take the carriage I shall go with you; you really don't expect me to walk to the park, do you? A lady would always take some sort of transportation to get there, and even then she is not expected to step a foot out of it when she got there."  
"You know that the carriage is expensive, Becky, we use it only when we must. Can't you take a cab there instead?" His face gave away a pained expression, which seemed to occur subconsciously whenever the topic of money was being discussed.  
"A cab? And have the driver wait about for us? I can just imagine the looks of scorn we would receive. It would be better to take the carriage, at least then we'd have our own servant waiting on us."  
"For pity's sake Rebecca, must you make everything so difficult?!" Rawdon stalked over the nearby window and opened it before lighting the cigar he pulled out of his vest pocket.  
"Rawdon, smoke that filthy thing somewhere else. I don't want that smell filling my room!" she exclaimed when she caught sight of him about to light it with one of the matches from the matchbox on her dressing table.  
He looked at her, surprised; "I thought you liked the smell of cigars."  
"We were courting when I said that I did, you really didn't expect me to be serious about that did you? I was only being flirtatious." Her reply was truthful, despite its flippant tone – he was so easily led on.  
"I'll smoke it at the park then, at least you won't have to smell it there." Rawdon stalked from the room, his emotions much changed from when he had entered.

***

It was good to be back in town again. He missed the sights and sounds of London. George had always known that he was meant to live here and always felt like an exile back at home, but here, here is where he could truly live. Making his usual stops, he visited a lady-friend, toured the shops – and bought himself a couple new neckties in the process – stopped by the regiment's quarters, and attended to business. Currently riding in a coach to his next destination George gazed out the window into the park, the one that he used to spend so much time in years ago. But those days were gone now, lost to the… Sitting upright suddenly, he stared out the window.  
"Driver! Stop here," he ordered.  
"Of course, sir." The driver was confused at the sudden change, but complied. George got out, paid the man, and quickly strode towards the park, his eyes fixed on his target.

"Crawley? Is that you Crawley?"  
Rawdon looked about, alarmed that his name was being called out, and kept turning about until he found the source. "Osbourne? Good grief, George Osbourne!"  
Both men gave hearty laughs as they shook hands vigorously, thumping each other on the back for emphasis.  
"My goodness, man, how've you been? It's been quite some time you know," the taller man grinned.  
"I've been keeping well. My wife and child are both content, so I suppose that's the best I can hope for."  
"Ah, yes! Your fair little wife, and your little boy too, eh? I should like to see him; he's the same age as my son." He turned to Rawdy who was sitting on his pony a few yards away, "Come on over, son! I want to introduce you to someone."  
George observed appreciatively as Crawley introduced his son, beaming with pride all the while. He looked to be a fine child, quiet when he compared him with his own son, but other than that could not find anything particularly striking about the boy. He wasn't a good judge of children in his own mind.  
"What part of town are you living in, Osbourne?"  
He hesitated a moment before replying, "Ah, my residence is, er, just outside of town."  
Rawdon sensed his unease, and regretted asking such a question – he shouldn't have assumed that his family was doing as well as his own family appeared to be. "Well then, if the travel isn't too much for you and your family, then I believe you ought to come to dinner. I'm sure that my wife would like to see Mrs. Osbourne again and our boys could meet as well."  
George was truly surprised at the invitation so suddenly put toward him, but readily accepted the offer. After all, it had been years since he had seen the Crawleys. "Well, I must leave you now, Rawdon," he said after a time. "I have to attend to business in town today."  
"Of course, good man; I won't keep you detained any longer. I'll have Becky send Mrs. Osbourne a proper invitation with the date and time as soon as possible. We'll be seeing you soon!" With that, the two men shook hands again and went their separate ways.

***

"Mrs. Osbourne! The post has come!" the maid called out.

Amelia, who had been doing some sewing on the back porch, jumped up from her seat and dashed to the front hallway. She had been reclining in the shade, lost in thought, and hadn't heard the postman knock on the door. In her excitement she nearly collided with the maid, who had been approaching from the opposite way. The maid handed her the letters and waited for her mistress to check to see who they were addressed to. She furiously flipped through them, they were mostly for George, or bills, or a regular letter from one of the few persons that she did know, until she found the one that she had been waiting for. It was from Major William Dobbin, addressed to the Osbourne family, all the way from the mystic East.

She repressed the urge to cry out in delight. Instead, Emmy took a deep breath and thanked her maid before hurrying away to the back porch that she had occupied moments earlier. Carefully opening the envelope so as not to damage any of its contents, she unfolded the many papers that had been bound together and was enchanted when numerous pressed flowers fell into her lap. She gently picked one up and examined its foreign colours of fuchsia and orange. Amelia held the pages close to nose and inhaled. Even after months of traveling, William's letters still had captured the exotic smell of Indian spices, waiting to be released by her delicate hands.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to _Vanity Fair _in any format (book, mini-series, or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.

**_Author's Note:_** Welcome to Chapter 3! Thank you for reading!! News of the coming dinner party hits home in this installment. If you like George Osbourne, you will probably like this chapter. I'd like to know what you think though, so send them along!  
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Reflecting on the visit as he strode the streets in the late afternoon, George recalled the last time that the two families had spent any time together. It was after the battle at Waterloo in Belgium, after they had returned alive from the fearsome fight. Amelia had quite nearly driven herself mad with worry over him. Though he was glad to be in her warm embrace again, it took less than a fortnight for the realization of their circumstances to settle down on him. Dobbin had gone to great lengths to get the couple and their soon-to-be child settled before journeying to India. If it had not been for Dobbin and his family's connections, it was doubtful that he would have even been able to supply a means of living for his family. The Crawleys, on the other hand, had left Belgium for France. He was aware of this from the reports of various persons whom they shared mutual connections. They had stayed in France for some time before settling back in London. George remembered the regiment's party before they went off to battle, the night that he had given the note to Rebecca. He wondered what she would think of him now.

***

It almost surprised him to see her come into the dining room and take a seat at the other end of the table. "Are you eating with us tonight, Becky?" he asked.  
"Yes, dear" she replied with a smile. It was pleasant to eat at home with her small family, gazing across the table at her handsome husband. Even though, it was almost too quiet when compared with the soirees which she attended two, three, or four times a week.  
Rawdon smiled in return. They would finally be able to spend some time together, something that seemed to occur less and less. He glanced at little Rawdy, who beamed at the sight of his food being brought in by one of the servants. When each of them had started into their meal he decided to tell her the news of the day.  
"Becky, guess at who Rawdy and I saw while we were at the park today!"  
"The king!" she teased.  
"Goodness, no! We met George Osbourne!  
"George Osbourne – you don't say…" he voice trailed off. Suddenly her thoughts flew back to when she had first met him – the arrogant boy who was courting her closest friend – then to their marriage, and further on as her thoughts raced to Brussels, Belgium, where they had parted ways. So engaged in her own though was she that Rebecca nearly failed to hear the next piece of information that came from her husband.  
"…and I've invited him to dine with us as soon as is possible."  
"You did what? Rawdon you cannot simply go around inviting people to dinner!"  
"I saw nothing wrong in doing so. After all he is an old friend."  
"Not a friend, an acquaintance perhaps. The Osbournes have never kept in contact with us all this time."  
"Becky, we do not know their circumstances. They could have been traveling just as we did. I really don't understand how a dinner invitation could vex you so!" he countered, dismayed that the once tranquil dinner was disintegrating into yet another argument.  
"Rawdon, you fail to understand that a dinner invitation is more than simply sending off a card. It involves a great deal of food, which costs money."  
"I should think that money does not matter when friends are involved, or at least people whom we have known for so long. Besides, I have already invited them and told him that his wife should expect a card shortly. If it eases your mind, I shall put some extra money into the dinner party from my savings."

She sighed heavily. It wasn't as though she loathed the idea of having the Osbournes to dinner, but she was not thrilled by it either. When she had last seen Amelia, they had not parted in the best of spirits. While the men were away fighting, Emmy had all but outright accused her of seducing George. Of course, Becky had never mentioned a word about the note he had given her, yet it was hardly her fault that the man had turned his covetous gaze upon her.  
"I suppose we could manage to accommodate them. I'm sorry, Rawdon; it was silly to quarrel about it like this." Becky glanced apprehensively at her son – he had his head down, focused on his food. It wouldn't do to see them continually bickering. She gave a small smile to Rawdon. He is trying to help, she reasoned to herself.

***

It was quite late by the time George arrived back at home. Everyone in the house had gone to bed, but there were still some candles burning to light his path. He was careful to tread quietly across the wooden floor so as not to wake anyone. Once in the bedroom, he began changing into the clothing that he slept it – drawstring pants and a loose shirt. The light from the candle reflected against the nearby window pane, and as he turned he caught sight of his reflection in it. Stopping to gaze at the image, he realized that it had been some time since he had really looked at himself, aside from checking his appearance with regard to his dress and grooming. George wondered at what he saw. He hoped that others could not see the things he felt inside; discontent, regret, pride, fear… A rustle coming from the bed brought him out of his thoughts.

"George?" a soft voice asked.  
"Yes Emmy?"  
"Oh, you're back!" she said, her relief apparent. "I was beginning to worry. I almost fell asleep, but I have been lying here awake for the longest time. How was your day?"  
"It went quite well actually. Something interesting happened that I believe you will want to hear about." He folded his clothing over a chair and walked over to the bed to sit beside Amelia. "I met with Rawdon Crawley this afternoon, Rebecca's husband – surely you remember him."  
She sat up in surprise, "Yes indeed! Did you now?"  
"Yes, he was quite well. They have a son the same age as our Georgy."  
"Do they?"  
"And Crawley has invited us to dine with them some evening!"  
She wanted to smile, but could not quite force herself to it. "Oh…" was all that she could manage to breath.  
"What's the matter?" George immediately noticed her change in temperament. "I thought you would be happy."  
"Well… it's just that, well it's been so long since I saw Becky, and she's become such a different person than from when I first knew her…"  
"Emmy, you shouldn't worry about that! Both of you have probably changed." He paused and ran his fingers through his dark hair, disturbing the style into which he had carefully coiffed it. "Anyhow, I got something for Georgy when I was in town – a toy soldier – I think he'll like it." He moved closer to her and whispered in her ear, "I also have a surprise for you." George revealed a small gold necklace and placed it into her hands.|  
"Oh, George! It's beautiful!"  
"Here, allow me to put it on for you." As she held up her long brown locks, he carefully did the clasp, letting his fingers linger on her neck before kissing her softly there with his pouty lips. A small looking glass sat on the table beside the bed, which he held for her as she admired how the necklace looked upon her.

Amelia looked beautiful in this light, he mused to himself, all misgivings forgotten as he gazed at his fair wife. He leaned over and blew out the candle that he had set on the bedside table.  
"Wait, I have to take this off; I cannot sleep with it on."  
"Why not?" he asked, he voice silken.  
"It isn't proper for a lady to sleep with her jewelry on, it's rather indecent."  
"Well that's fine with me," he told her with a lusty smile across his face that she could see in the pale moonlight. Amelia trembled slightly as he ran his hands along her white forearms. When she began to protest, stating that her necklace would look better when she was dressed up, he placed his fingertips to her lips. "Hush," he whispered, and kissed her deeply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to _Vanity Fair _in any format (book, mini-series, or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.

_**Author's note:**_ To quote a friend: "It has been an age". And it truly has been since I wrote the last chapter. I'm very sorry! I lost my momentum in writing this story and it was a struggle to find the inspiration to write chapter four. I'm so glad I finally finished!! I hope that you enjoy reading it. A couple quick notes (for all you avid readers of the novel): Becky's French maid is in this fic, but she isn't neglectful as in the novel; George and Becky first meet at the Sedley's house, but the previous piano meeting I've alluded to occurs at Lady Crawley's house, as seen in the movie.

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In less than a fortnight, Becky had sent a dinner invitation to the Osbournes, graciously asking for their presence in the Crawley home. The wish for the old acquaintance to be renewed that was fondly expressed softened Amelia's heart not a little. She felt almost certain that her impetuous schoolgirl friend had settled into her roles as wife and mother which were sure to cultivate patience amongst her fiery spirit. It was these thoughts and similar ones that Emmy dwelled upon during the coach ride into town. She sat in between her son and another traveler but not uncomfortably. George also had a seat by a window and he stared out of it into the descending twilight. And so passed the ride, the anticipation of the night ahead causing a silent mixture of excitement and dread in both Mr. and Mrs. Osbourne.

***

"They're here! They're here!" Rawdy called out when he saw the carriage pull up to their house.

Rawdon strode to the window to confirm the announcement. "Ah good – thanks son. Becky, the Osbournes have come!"

A moment later Rebecca came rushing down the stairs, holding up her skirts so as not to trip on them as she descended. "I'm coming! Now don't get so excited and stop yelling both of you." She made sure Rawdon and the little boy were ready and calmed before she allowed the one of the servants open the door.

As soon as Amelia had stepped inside, she and Rebecca embraced warmly and the men shook hands as their respective children looked at each other suspiciously. Amelia could not help but blush a little when Rawdon gently took her hand and told her how pleased he was to see her again. Likewise, George shook Becky's hand, but was unable to discern her thoughts when she diverted her green eyes from meeting his own.

The actual dinner itself went far better than Becky had anticipated. The conversation was cheerful, the food satisfying, and the atmosphere very light indeed. Much time had been spent reminiscing and recalling the short yet adventurous times that the two couples had spent together, as well as inquiring after mutual acquaintances. Even the limited number of household staff seemed in better spirits than usual. It was not until after the dinner was over, and the women and children retired to the sitting room, did the dread that had lain in the pit of Becky's stomach arise again. It would be only Amelia and herself and she feared that their conversation would quickly sour.

The boys were playing off to the side, both of them finally having taken a liking to one another. On a nearby sofa sat Mrs. Crawley and Mrs. Osbourne, both feeling awkward to suddenly be in each other's company again after so long.

"Your son is a fine-looking boy," Amelia started. "He seems rather quiet, but I suppose that is because my Georgy is most outspoken."

Becky glanced at the children. "Yes, he is very quiet. Half of the time I barely notice him there!" she laughed lightly.

"Surely you must enjoy being a mother though."

"Well, there is nothing like having a family to tend to." Rebecca paused a moment before continuing, "Your son very much resembles his father."

Amelia beamed at the comment. "Doesn't he though! He is most fortunate to have been blessed with such handsome appearances, just as George has been."

Just then, Becky realized something that had been on her mind all evening. It was the necklace that was now around Emmy's neck – it was the same little, gold necklace that Becky had only recently sold off! "Emmy, dear, where ever did you get that charming necklace from?" she asked sweetly.

Her pale cheeks turned a pleasing shade of pink. "It's a gift from George. He was in town as of late and brought this beautiful piece back for me. He's marvelous, isn't he?"

"There are so many words that could describe him," Becky replied, her back-handed compliment going noticed. She was almost disappointed to find that the other woman was as much infatuated with George Osbourne as when she was a girl.

"You must feel the same way for Rawdon. He is so jovial! One cannot help but feel in good humour in his company. And such a loving father!"

"Yes, I must say that Rawdon has many fine qualities that make him an admirable man."

"Admirable? Your choice of words is most modest for you Becky. I would have thought that more terms of adoration would have come from your lips. I remember you both seemed on top of the world when you were first married."

"Conquest can often seem dull after a time unless one continues to conquer," came the cryptic reply.

Emmy's eyes grew wide at the implication. Was Rebecca really be referring to her marriage to Rawdon as a conquest? Surely the woman could not be so mercenary. Suddenly she recalled what Becky had once said, that Crawley had a very wealthy aunt and that he stood to inherit a large sum of money from her. Before she could press her further, the two men came in from the dining room to join the women.

In an effort to disengage herself from her failing conversation with Amelia, Becky offered to play the piano. She reasoned that it would seem silent without the music, which was true, because at larger gatherings there was always someone at a musical instrument. Rawdon and Emmy immediately began talking in great detail about the children, a topic that did not hold much interest for neither her nor George, who drifted over to where Becky was playing.

"How strange it is that we should meet again like this, Mrs. Crawley," he addressed her. "I remember a particular time when you were staying in town with Lady Crawley that Amelia and I paid a visit. We talked not unlike this at the piano."

"That I do remember. And how we cut at one another; your cruel words tainting the atmosphere." Rebecca smiled sweetly, yet the devious glint in her eyes remained.

He glanced around the room so as to make sure their conversation was not overheard, but like the previous time, their respective spouses were preoccupied. "You've driven me to shame Mrs. Crawley; as you must be well aware, I no longer enjoy the position I had before."

"Then we speak on a more level standing, for I am no longer a mere governess."

"You are so much more than that, I believe you always were."

"But, you didn't always approve of me."

George was silent at the comment. It was true that he had looked down upon her, even humiliating her publically.

"Do not feel poorly, Captain Osbourne; let us put all of that behind us," Becky told him gently. "And start afresh."

Even now, he could not be sure what was going through her mind. He could never be sure. She was clever, and she knew it. What was it about Rebecca Crawley that was so intoxicating? He could be sure that nearly every man who met her felt the same way. George wondered if there was any man alive who could possibly charm her.

Much later Rawdon and his wife escorted the Osbourne family to the door and watched them climb into the coach that would take them home. It had been an enjoyable evening by his standards; it was nice to finally have guests whom he knew personally. The night air was cool. Even from the front step he could feel the mist that drifted in with the fog.

"Becky, why don't we go for a walk? It's a good night for being out," he whispered to her, as if afraid to break the quiet.

"Walking? At this hour? Really, Rawdon," she replied dismissively.

"Why not?"  
"It isn't exactly fitting. I mean, if we were returning from a party or something, then it would be permissible, but to go wandering about is quite unnecessary."

"You could bundle up so well so that no one would even recognize you."

"People may recognize you though."

"Well, I could wear my hat, and pull it down low on my head."

She smiled a bit. "Well, dear, maybe some other night. Your offer is appealing, but I truly am very tired. This has been a very busy day for me, preparing this evening and all. You go ahead if you feel so inclined."

He leaned over to kiss her good night and watched her return inside the house before turning back to look at the streets. They seemed to beckon to him. Why should they still? When he felt so much happier tonight than on many others. Rawdon sighed deeply, trying to expel the feeling from inside. I miss my horse; he thought to himself, I was always so content when I could go out riding. Letting out another sigh, he also turned to go in and came face to face with Becky's maid.

"Excusez-moi, Colonel Crawley! I saw that the door was opened and I wanted to check that no one was outside before I closed it," she said, her French accent evident.

He thought quickly – what was her name… Genevieve. "Quite all right, I was just catching a breath of fresh air. Is Rawdy in bed?"

"Yes, monsieur, I just put him to bed less than an hour ago."

"Thank you. I'll be coming in now."

"Very well, monsieur."

He went back into the house and made his way upstairs to check on Rawdy before he went to bed. At least that woman took care of him, he reassured himself. As much as he didn't want to acknowledge it, he knew that Becky probably hadn't even had a thought of kissing her son good-night before retiring for the evening.

***

He would probably miss the humid climate that he had become so accustom to over the course of time. The sights, the sounds, and the smells of India were irreplaceable. He wished that he could bring more of it back with him to England, but it was impossible to stuff anything else into his tightly packed trunks. Gazing at the ship he was about to board, he contemplated the long journey ahead of him. The route from Calcutta, India to Britain was a long, tiring, and somewhat perilous one, yet he welcomed it since it meant seeing his family and friends once again. He had been away from his homeland for years. When Joseph Sedley announced that he would be voyaging to Europe and invited his old friend to accompany him, he had immediately agreed to go.

"Oh I do hope that we have a pleasant sailing. I detest it when ships roll profusely in the waves."

Major William Dobbin turned around to see Jos Sedley approaching. Employed by the East India Register, the collector of Boggley Wollah was an experienced traveler, and had been in India for many years. Dobbin had to smile to himself when he considered how even now Sedley was anxious about large ships. "I hear that we have good weather; I don't believe that there is cause to worry."

"Ah, good," Jos replied, his tone showing his relief. "I must say, I'm rather excited to be returning to England after so long – ten years has it been since my last visit?"

"Yes, I believe so." Dobbin had been there nearly as long, but Jos had left quite soon after Waterloo. "I wish that I could have written to the Osbournes about it, they'll be delighted to hear that we're coming."

"Don't worry dear fellow, I made mention in my last letter that I was planning a trip. Then again, that was only a month ago, and it does take a time for the post to travel."

"That it does." He couldn't stop thinking about the Osbourne family. To see his old friend George Osbourne, his son, Georgy – who had only been an infant when he left – and dear Amelia. Most of all Amelia, who faithfully read his letters and replied with many joyful tales of her beloved son. His heart rushed not a little and Dobbin looked over the water once more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to _Vanity Fair _in any format (book, mini-series, or movie). All rights are reserved by the original owners.

_**Author's Note: **_And two months later I finally post Chapter 5… Sorry about the wait. I have been on hiatus because I haven't felt like writing until recently. That said, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. It's a little shorter than others, but has a scene with Rawdon in it that I really like! I both welcome your reviews and thank you for them!!

* * *

~3 months later~

She could hear footsteps in the hallway preceding the knock at her bedroom door. The maid had come again to disturb her – hopefully it was nothing that required more than a moment's dismissal.

"Enter!" Rebecca called out in an annoyed tone. From where she sat at her dressing table she could observe the girl in the mirror without turning about.

The maid curtsied slightly upon entering. "The post has come, ma'am."

"Has it? Finally!" Immediately she stood and took the letters, eagerly scanning the names of the intended recipients before noticing that the maid had not yet left. "That is all," Becky told her, though more kindly than she usually did.

The first three were bills, which she put aside, but the fourth was a personal note addressed to her. Eagerly breaking the seal, Becky scanned its contents and was delighted to learn that it was an invitation. There was a soiree to be held at the residence of the Marquis of Steyne at Grant Square a couple of days from now. During the past few months Rebecca had become closely acquainted with Lord Steyne. She had seen the august man being taken about town in his carriage, but it wasn't until he saved her from those mercenary money collectors that she had spoken with him. What was even more interesting was the fact that the Marquis had purchased a beloved portrait of her mother years ago. She remembered the day he had swept into the dank studio where her poor father worked as an artist – and Lord Steyne remembered her.

***

From where he was lying on the sofa he had a perfect view of Amelia as she got herself ready to pay a visit to her mother. He did not think it best to go walking about in her condition, but she insisted that the air would do her good.

"Dearest, why don't you come with me? My mother would like to see you," she called over to him.

"Emmy, I'd really much prefer to stay."

"But there is nothing for you to do here, and it is such a nice day."

"I have the newspaper to read. You and your mother would have much more to discuss than you could with me there."

He watched her pout a bit and gaze at him with those wide, innocent eyes. "But, I should like for you to walk with me."

George sighed heavily, weighing the prospects of spending the afternoon with Amelia's depressing parents with quietly sitting with his newspaper. Mr. Sedley was always rambling on about his latest business scheme which would raise them from their poverty. Yet, as of recently he had been feeling so peculiarly fond of Emmy, similar to when they were courting. Perhaps it was the youthful glow in her cheeks that reminded him of better days, such as the day they spent at Vauxhall lying together in the grass.

"I'll come with you Emmy. No wife of mine shall be forced to go unaccompanied down the street." Her delighted smile assured him that he had chosen well.

***

"Fifine!"

His wife's call to her French maid made him suspicious. Surely Rebecca was not going out to yet another dinner party! Feeling curious, though already anticipating the answer, Rawdon ascended the staircase. Peering into the bedroom, he observed her rushing about, most definitely in preparation to go out for the night. The floor creaked slightly under his feet and Becky started speaking without looking to see who it was.

"It's about time! I shall not be able to arrive at a decent hour at this rate…" She noticed him standing there and her tone changed. "Oh, it's you Rawdon."

"You aren't going out again are you?"

"Yes I am, dear. Have you seen that indolent maid of mine?"

"Did Lord Steyne invite you?"

"Yes he did, that generous man… Fifine!!" she shouted.

Rawdon had long begun to harbour a strong dislike for the man, be he a lord or not. He loathed the way he looked at Rebecca, or how he flattered her with so many social invitations. Perhaps it was the way that Becky responded that hurt him the most. It had long been that her very presence commanded such attentions from every man in a room to which she entered, but she had never taken any of that attention seriously – until now that is.

"Was his generosity extended to me, may I ask?"

Becky threw an irritated glance back at him. "Rawdon do not get yourself worked up into one of these silly agitations. You detest soirees and Lord Steyne is aware of such, thus he spared you the embarrassment of having to decline."

The maid finally snuck into the room behind the colonel's well-built figure, not wanting to draw attention to herself from her quick tempered mistress.

"Fifine!" Becky said sharply, having instantly noticed her tardy arrival, "Hurry up and help me get ready. The carriage will be arriving shortly."

"He is taking you there as well?"

"Rawdon, I really don't understand why you are being this way. I am trying my very best to make a name for us in town. Climbing the social ladder is an arduous task, but the benefits are plenty," Becky explained.

His chest felt tight with the exasperation he was presently feeling. It was the Crawley name that was being made known, but only Rebecca's part of it. Rawdon was not oblivious to his rank on the social ladder. "Well, you must be succeeding in some part of your ascent since you are well-known as Mrs. Crawley, while I am only Mrs. Crawley's husband."

"Well, you really only have yourself to blame for that," she huffed. "If you would only be more accommodating and so forth –"

He cut her off, "'Accommodating'? Good grief! When you have me emptying the pockets of our guests onto the billiards tables. How am I to get on with your company?" The sorry thing was that she was sure to prevail in this argument as well. He knew very well that his wit was no match for her own. "Have a fine evening then. I am sick of quarreling with you. Good night, Rebecca."

Storming back downstairs, Rawdon went to the sitting room to try and calm down. He eyed a footstool, seeking to do violence to it, but thought better of it. Instead he found a glass and went to pour himself a drink. Much to his disappointment he found the bottle empty, mostly likely from the last time someone had come to visit the famous Mrs. Crawley. Not wanting to be there when Lord Steyne came for her, Rawdon fetched his coat and hat and departed for the club.

***

She had been sitting in the little parlour of their cottage when she heard the footsteps on the walk. It was a quiet afternoon with George away and little Georgy at school. Amelia had taken the opportunity to read a pleasant novel and drink tea in the warm comfort of her home, and had not been expecting any visitors that day. A moment later the maid entered with Mrs. Sedley right behind her.

"Now, now you silly girl," she chided the maid, "I do not need to be announced to my own daughter. Hello dear!"

Emmy sat up in surprise. "Mother! You did not tell me that you were coming over to visit today…" Truth be told, she had been quite enjoying her quiet afternoon just the way it had been progressing.

"What have you been doing all day, child? Lolling about in this manner will accomplish nothing. Do you not have socks to darn or something?"

Amelia struggled to keep her tone civil, "I have completed my chores to a sufficient degree and was allowing myself some leisure when you happened by." She was not a little surprised at the annoyance she felt at her mother's sudden appearance. "What news has brought you over in such hast?"

"Oh yes, that's right! Your father and I have just received a note from Jos. He has finally arrived in town!"

"Has he really?" She had been awaiting news from him, since it had been months that he had written his last letter which told of his long voyage back to England. "He has arrived safely then?"

"Yes, indeed!" Mrs. Sedley replied excitedly. "And he wishes to have a dinner at his residence at the earliest convenience. He is allowing us to set the day. And your family is of course invited. Joseph mentioned that he would write you soon, but he is of course exhausted from the journey." The woman paused only long enough to take a breath before continuing with what she had to say. "Also, he says that Captain Dobbin – or should I say, Major Dobbin – has arrived in town with him. They traveled together you know. Anyways, pass that bit of information along to your husband."

"Of course," Emmy replied absently. Major Dobbin had returned! It had been so many years… She wondered if he had changed much. A strange rushing of her heart that she suddenly felt alarmed her a bit. The last time she had seen him Georgy was only a baby – he had not even seen the handsome young boy that he had become! Amelia hoped that Major Dobbin would also be at the dinner; she could finally introduce to Georgy the man that all his life he had heard nothing but praise for.


End file.
